


Grey with a speck of Blue

by EphemeralOblivion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Orphanage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:50:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EphemeralOblivion/pseuds/EphemeralOblivion
Summary: "You will know better."He had meant it as a statement, but for some reason it came out like a promise.





	Grey with a speck of Blue

He laid on the thin mattress of the creaky bed. It was probably nearing four o'clock in the morning, but he couldn't sleep. He was cold and hungry, but those weren't the reasons he wasn't sleeping. No, bone deep chill and starvation wasn't anything he would lose sleep over. The eight short years of his life had taught him much, including getting used to having a half empty stomach at all times.

Glaring eyes stared at the grey sealing, as if trying to stab that piercing gaze right through and straight at the source of his annoyance. The wailing. It just wouldn't stop. And it didn't seem like any of the caregivers would be going to check on the source of disturbance any time soon, if they even heard it. Probably just didn't care enough to.

He sighed in annoyance, pushing the grey cloth they called a blanket off his form, and slipped out of his bed.

The floors of the orphanage were ice cold. He felt his toes curl as soon as his bare feet hit the ground, and he had to grit his teeth in the effort it took him to not jump back on the thin mattress still holding the remnants of his body heat.

The boy forced his legs to move, slipping quietly out of his room and into the corridor, which was dark and empty. He set his steps towards the stairs leading to the third floor as he listened attentively for any sounds at all. He didn't want to get caught outside of his room at this time of night.

All he could hear, however, were his own nearly silent footsteps and the howling wind outside, twisting around the snowflakes and gathering strength for the upcoming storm that was sure to hit London for the next couple of days.

Once he reached the end of the stairs, he headed straight to the very end of the corridor, where his own room was located a floor below. The closer he got, the clearer he could hear the crying coming from inside.

He stopped at the closed door, twisting the doorknob as silently as he could, and slipped in, after making sure nobody was coming for the last time.

Once inside, he paused, and took the grey room in. The nursery. It was small, twice the size of his own room, but still small compared to the standards.

He approached the only crib of the three existing ones, that was currently occupied, and looked inside at the nuisance who was responsible for his lack of sleep for the past two nights.

He had heard about a new baby a few days ago. It was a little girl, maybe a little over a year old. She had light hair and grey eyes. She had been left on the doorstep of the orphanage, just like he had been. At least it had been summer when he was brought in, which had probably been about a year after his birth if the vague, irked answers he had managed to get out of one of the caregivers were to be believed.

The girl in question had toned down her wailing when she noticed that somebody had finally come to her. She looked up at the dark-haired boy with big, teary eyes and opened her mouth to spew out some gibberish.

The boy looked around and located a little step stool underneath one of the other cribs. He put it down in front of the one the baby girl was in and leaned over the crib railing to get a better look inside.

"Why are you crying huh?" The boy finally opened his mouth and whispered, after a stare-off. The little girl started to sob again when the boy made no move to pick her up or comfort her.

"Are you calling for your mummy?" His voice took a far-off quality as he was speaking, and a thoughtful look entered his eyes. "I bet you still remember her."

The girl quieted down at the sound of his voice, as if understanding him, but the tears kept streaming down her cheeks.

When he opened his mouth again, his voice was indifferent, but a hint of mockery could be seen on his face by the way his lips curled and his eyes flashed.

"Do you remember how she smelled when she held you against her chest? The feel of her lips against your forehead as she whispered sweet words of nothing against your hair? Can you still hear the sound of her voice as she sang the fears away?"

The baby just sniffed and kicked one of her little feet again.

His face hardened then and his voice took a deeper edge.

"Your mother is not coming. She can't hear you. She is either dead or has left you. It doesn't matter. She is gone either way. Or, at least, you tell yourself that it doesn't matter." He faltered briefly, but composed himself quickly. "Who cares about the conscience of an orphan? Whether our mothers left us of their free will or not, we are all alone here."

A strand of hair fell into his eyes as he looked down for a moment, and he pushed it back behind his ear, sighing. His voice was soft, when he started talking again, and came out more like a whisper.

"I still remember my mother. The greenest of greens and the reddest of reds. She burned so brightly that when she was gone the only colour left was grey." He looked at the dusty and cracked mirror to his left and saw a vague outline of his form illuminated by the moonlight that was coming from the window in front of him. Grey stared back.

"Most of them think their mother or father is coming back for them eventually. The way their eyes shine with hope and determination, looking skywards with a dreamy expression. It's pathetic. They're pathetic... It's the only way they know to keep the grey away.

I hope you will know better."

The baby sneezed and the boy reached for the tiny blanket, that she had kicked off her form, and covered her with it. After a moment of hesitation, he brushed his hand over the length of the blanket, concentrating on making it warm, and felt the answering tingling at his fingertips.

The little bundle let out a content yawn after that, and he was about to leave when their eyes locked again.

Blue. Her sleepy eyes were blue, not grey.

"You will know better."

He had meant it as a statement, but for some reason it came out like a promise.


End file.
